


Able To Just Be

by BridesmaidInLilac



Series: Submissive Tendencies [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Puppy Play, Safe Sane and Consensual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-12
Updated: 2014-02-12
Packaged: 2018-01-12 01:47:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1180461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BridesmaidInLilac/pseuds/BridesmaidInLilac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It felt nice, this just being lark, John thought as he stretched indolently on the sofa, the sun shining in at the window warming his bare skin. He basked in the warm glow, allowing a tiny groan of contentment to escape his throat as he stre-e-e-tched his legs and arms before lazily curling up again, resting his head on a warm, obliging lap.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Able To Just Be

It felt nice, this _just being_ lark, John thought as he stretched indolently on the sofa, the sun shining in at the window warming his bare skin. He basked in the warm glow, allowing a tiny groan of contentment to escape his throat as he _stre-e-e-tched_ his legs and arms before lazily curling up again, resting his head on a warm, obliging lap.

Long fingers immediately carded through John’s hair, rubbing circles on his scalp, and he couldn’t help the sleepy droop of his eyelids against the hypnotic motion. It felt so good. So calming. All the tension and stress he usually carried melting away under the rhythmic, soothing touch.

John wished he could have this all the time, every day. He would get used to it then, though, he thought, and it wouldn’t be such a delight anymore.

Or maybe it would be. He didn’t think he would _ever_ tire of this.

He quietly moaned his thanks when the fingers stroking his hair reversed course and trailed down the back of his neck, light and feathery and perfect, and John buried his face further in the tailored lap he rested on, breathing in the scents of sun-warmed, expensive cotton and, beneath that, an entirely masculine smell, musky and dark, that made his breath catch in his throat in sudden longing.

“Good boy.” Sherlock murmured softly, continuing his petting of John, scratching lightly at the fine hairs on John’s neck, watching as goose bumps formed, marching down his skin like a map. “My good boy.”

John whimpered gratefully and snuggled closer, his chest swelling at the whispered praise.

John remembered when the two of them had first started this. They’d already been together a handful of months before Sherlock, bored of the depressingly vanilla sex they were having, turned his intellect to deducing John and his secret kinks. Sherlock had had to _deduce_ John wanted this too, because John never would have been able to say the words out loud, explain his deepest kink to Sherlock. He would rather have died first than admit it.

And even when Sherlock had taken the burden of revelation out of John’s hands, he’d still been so embarrassed. Ashamed of how much he enjoyed it when he went to his knees and Sherlock took care of him. Treated him like his puppy. Petted him. Praised him. John had blushed and huffed his way through the first shamefully arousing ordeal.

Now, months later, his stupid qualms cast aside, John couldn’t help wriggling in pleasure, loving the praise and overt worship he heard in Sherlock’s voice.

It was never like this in their day-to-day life. Usually, the situation was reversed and it was _John_ telling _Sherlock_ how wonderful and fantastic he was. And John loved telling the genius how extraordinary he was. He really did. He didn’t resent it.

But this. This was so much better. Being the center of Sherlock’s entire world for the brief hours they played. Giving himself and his voice and all his choices over to Sherlock and trusting him to do whatever he thought was best. There was no greater high.

John would have thought Sherlock would be the last person to tolerate this sort of thing, much less enjoy it. He did, though. John could see the happiness shining from Sherlock’s eyes when John was like this, was his puppy. The contentment. The pleasure. They both got what they want from it and there was no awkwardness, no hesitation. Just Sherlock and John.

It was perfect.

John sighed as Sherlock’s fingers danced down his spine, eliciting shivers he was powerless to stop. Shivers he wasn’t _allowed_ to stop, he reminded himself. Sherlock liked seeing all of John’s physical reactions- the good and the bad- and John wasn’t allowed to hide from him during these moments.

Not that he could hide much at the moment, naked as he was. John had never been one to be ashamed of his body, but the way Sherlock looked at him when he was nude and kneeling at Sherlock’s feet…any lingering hesitation melted away. How could he ever be ashamed after that? John lived for those moments.

“So beautiful.” Sherlock’s fingers halted at John’s tailbone, before dipping further down and tracing the stretched rim of his arse as it clenched around a large plug. It was John’s tail, the plug. John had blushed and stammered when Sherlock- of course it had been Sherlock- first brought up the idea. John would never have done. His fantasies had never gone that far but after Sherlock explained it and coaxed John into trying it once…there was no going back.

It wasn’t very large, a medium size, but attached to the black rubber was a long, gorgeous tail which trailed down John’s legs and tickled his skin. Only the best for his puppy, Sherlock had explained with pride the first time he’d lovingly placed it inside John, stroking John’s shivering thighs with a firm, steady hand. It was now just another part of John when he was a puppy. Without it, he’d have felt incomplete.

Sherlock tugged lightly at the tail to feel the resistance John’s body put up, unwilling to relinquish it, before forcefully pulling it out a few inches. John whined, high in his throat, his rim stretching around the fat middle of the plug, before Sherlock pushed the plug back in, the tip dragging relentlessly over John’s prostate and settling there with a steady, teasing pressure. Hot arousal flashed through John’s chest and he couldn’t stop the moan, the needy way he pushed back against Sherlock’s hand, wanting more. Sherlock, though, took his hand away, caressing John’s arse. The message was clear: not yet.

“Such a lovely puppy.” Sherlock chuckled, his hands climbing back up John’s body to trace the outline of John’s ear, where he knew John was ticklish, making John squirm and chuckle in surprise. It was a sound that wasn’t allowed- puppies didn’t laugh- and John received a warning smack on his shoulder for the infraction.

“None of that.” Sherlock said sternly, his voice suddenly hard and implacable. John whimpered and cringed just a bit. He wanted to apologize, explain that he couldn’t help it, that he was trying to be good, but words weren’t allowed either. So John stayed still, breathless, hoping Sherlock would forgive him.

He felt it when Sherlock finally relented, the thigh muscles beneath John’s cheek relaxing. Just this once, though. John knew if he did it again, without Sherlock’s permission, he would be punished.

Sherlock’s fingers returned to John’s ear and repeated the movement, tickling again, but this time John knew better. He whined, high-pitched and helpless, and buried his head in Sherlock’s crotch in an attempt to get away from the sensation. Sherlock was already half-hard beneath his lips and John, without thinking, rubbed his cheek against it, moaning. He was rewarded by Sherlock’s breath hitching and his hand abandoned his tickling and cradled the back of John’s head, encouraging him to rub and kiss the ridge of hot flesh as Sherlock got harder beneath him.

“Yes. Good puppy. So…good.” Fingers carded through John’s short hair and Sherlock rolled his hips in a lazy thrust. “Such a good puppy for me, aren’t you?”

John moaned and tried to shimmy closer to Sherlock, basking in the praise, wanting to show Sherlock just how good he could be.

“Down.”

The hushed word went straight to John’s cock and it jumped, thickening in sudden arousal. He moaned as he clambered off the sofa, not trying to be smooth or graceful about it. That wasn’t what puppies did. Instead, he rolled to the edge, slinging first one leg then the other over, before sliding until both knees touched the carpet, accidentally rubbing his cock against the sofa. It felt so good, the sudden friction against his straining cock that John’s eyes fluttered closed and he rutted once- twice- against the side of the cushion before Sherlock smacked him on the arse- hard- jolting him out of his haze.

Shame pooled in John’s gut at the disapproval in Sherlock’s eyes.

“ _Bad_.” Sherlock tugged John away from the sofa, positioning him on his knees between Sherlock’s legs. Sherlock’s lips turned down in displeasure. “ _Very_ bad. You know better than that, puppy.”

John whined again, ducking his head, not able to believe how incredibly stupid he could be sometimes. He knew better than that. _He knew better_. It was another one of the rules: John didn’t touch or rub his cock against anything- anything at all- without Sherlock’s express permission. That was naughty. He was usually good about it, even when repeatedly teased and denied, which made this transgression so much…worse.

Sherlock sighed, his disappointment in John plain. John cowered, closing his eyes, shame thick in his chest, almost overwhelming enough to dampen his arousal. But not quite.

“What am I going to do with you?”

John knew Sherlock didn’t want an answer so he didn’t try. It would just make his punishment worse.

“I was going to let you come this time. I know you enjoy it when I let you, when I take you in my hand and stroke you… _just_ … _so_.”

John shuddered, unable to stop the convulsive twitch of his hips, the jut of his erection that throbbed uselessly without stimulation. It wasn’t that he _never_ came during these sessions, but Sherlock very rarely allowed John to reach orgasm when he was a puppy. If Sherlock allowed it, John knew he had been _exceptionally_ well-behaved.

Instead, Sherlock usually used John’s body as he saw fit, taking all he had to give and more, denying John his much-needed orgasm at the end. It reinforced their disparity at these times- that Sherlock was able to come and John wasn’t. John’s pleasure wasn’t the goal, he was just Sherlock’s (rather slutty) puppy, to be used as Sherlock desired.

“I won’t allow you this time.” Sherlock continued, stroking John’s hair. John surged at the contact, butting against Sherlock’s hand, hoping to be forgiven for the mistake. He heard Sherlock chuckle. “Very nice but you’re not earning it back, puppy. You’ve already lost the opportunity with your bad behavior. You know better than to act as you did and I think this will help you remember. Don’t you?”

Another question Sherlock wasn’t expecting an answer to.

John whined nevertheless, eyes begging. Sherlock smiled and stroked his cheek before reaching for the button and zip of his trousers, tugging them down and freeing his erection.When they’d first started, John had tried unzipping Sherlock with his teeth. Getting his lip caught in the zip, resulting in blood and pain and an entire week when John had been unable to properly suck Sherlock off without reopening the wound, had put paid to that and now Sherlock did it himself.

John shuffled closer on his knees and, knowing Sherlock was watching him, craving more of his praise, determined to make this the best blow job he’d given.

With his tongue out and flattened- he was supposed to be a puppy after all- John licked Sherlock’s cock, from base to tip, over and over, covering it in his saliva, delicately tonguing the slit and licking away the pre-come which was beginning to form there in tantalizing droplets. He risked a glance up at Sherlock’s face- another thing that wasn’t allowed- giving Sherlock his biggest, best innocent eyes. Sherlock’s mouth twisted humorously and he grabbed a fistful of John’s hair, shoving his face back down, breaking their eye contact and growling.

“Bad.” Sherlock gripped the base of his cock with one hand and, with the other still clutched in John’s hair, tugged John’s head down until his lips wrapped around Sherlock’s hard prick. “No more acting up,puppy. Be good. Or _else_.”

John shivered at the implicit threat, unable to get further aroused at the idea of being spanked- not when it was Sherlock’s preferred method of discipline. There was nothing erotic or arousing when Sherlock took John over his knee and spanked him until he was almost in tears and squirming in pain.

With the warning hanging over his head, John shifted forward to better align himself and let Sherlock fuck his mouth in quick, sharp thrusts that made his eyes water. It seemed he didn’t want John doing any of the work and John knew it was because he had been bad, that he wouldn’t be earning any of the longed-for praise from Sherlock.

“Relax.” Sherlock grit out, pushing John further down on his cock, the head of his prick nudging against the back of John’s throat. John struggled to comply, hands spasming, gripping at the carpet to maintain his balance and relaxed his throat.

Sherlock’s thrusts came quicker, deeper, barely pulling out before rutting back in, making John’s throat clench in protest before he gained control of it again. Breathing around Sherlock’s cock was next to impossible but John tried, dragging in shaky breaths through his nose when he was able, huffing it out in desperate, helpless little choked off cries that earned him no sympathy from Sherlock.

“Oh…fuck…” Sherlock, eyes slitted in building pleasure, watched as John struggled to accommodate him. The sight of John, on his knees, eyes watery and desperate, did things to him and his pleasure rose up, sharp and tangible.

John pumped his hips in time with Sherlock’s, uninhibited, knowing Sherlock loved it when he gave in to “baser” instincts. So he humped the air, his erection throbbing between his legs, whining for release. The plug in his arse was a tease, not long enough to do more than graze his prostate with every twitch of his hips. He knew he wouldn’t be able to get off this way but he couldn’t help trying.

Sherlock gasped, high and strained, and John’s entire body tightened, conditioned well, knowing what that signaled-

He swallowed Sherlock’s come as it spurted into his mouth, trickling down his throat, enough to make him choke but John sternly told himself to relax. Swallow. Breathe. He had done this before, countless time. He wasn’t going to gag. It was all in his mind.

“Good boy.” Sherlock’s shakily given praise made John swell with pride, even while his cock throbbed desperately, knowing he’d given Sherlock that much pleasure. “You’re so good, puppy. So very, very good.”

Sherlock’s fingers relaxed their death grip on John’s hair and carded through the strands soothingly, urging John to rest his head against Sherlock’s trembling thigh.

They stayed that way for long minutes, simply enjoying each other’s company, coming down from the mutual high.

“Up.” Sherlock finally commanded and John lethargically moved, kneeling up and raising his head, keeping his eyes trained down. Sherlock scooted to the edge of his chair and hummed as he spread his fingers over John’s unprotected throat. “We should get you a collar.” He murmured. “Would you like that? You can speak.”

John had to clear his throat multiple times before he was able to finally speak and even then, his voice came out hoarse and strained. “Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

Of course Sherlock would make him say it, John thought, resisting the urge to squirm and hide. “Yes. I’d like a collar.”

Sherlock smiled, bending down to press a brief kiss against John’s lips. He helped John stand, his legs having fallen asleep and were stiff and sore besides from kneeling on the hard floor, and lowered him to lay on his stomach on the sofa.

John gasped when his sensitive, still hard cock made contact with the soft cushion and, even though the scene was over and he probably had permission to get himself off, he cracked open an eye to look at Sherlock for what he should do.

“Later.” Sherlock responded to the unspoken question, tugging on the plug in John’s arse until it popped out. John cried out as it slid from his arse, hips jerking forward, but Sherlock soothed him, fingers digging into John’s hips to stop him from mindlessly thrusting against the sofa. “Later.” He repeated, fingers dipping into John’s still dilated, twitching hole, teasing. “Tonight. If you wait until tonight, I’ll fuck you and let you come."

John shuddered at the promise and he tried to master his aching cock and make it go away. God but he _wanted_. It was only a few more hours, though. Just a few more hours and he could come. It was better to come with Sherlock’s cock in his arse than from any other measly means.

He tried explaining that to his twitching cock. It didn’t help much.

* * *

 

Later that night, sprawled beneath Sherlock in a sweaty, shaking, thankfully sated heap, John pressed a lingering kiss against his lover’s cheek, a silent thank you for everything he did and how wanted he made him feel.

“Next time,” Sherlock whispered against John’s ear, his voice dark and suggestive, “we should get you mitts to go along with your collar. Real puppies don’t have hands.”


End file.
